


Assimilation

by orphan_account



Category: Lord of the Flies - William Golding
Genre: Exhibitionism, M/M, Power Play, ritualistic shit, this fic is REALLY GROSS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 12:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1106691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack was waiting for them when they got there. He motioned with his spear for them to drop Ralph in front of him. He was standing about equal distance away from the pig head and Piggy’s body, still left there beneath the rock, now beginning to collect flies. They roughly shoved Ralph down in the sand in front of Jack, and then made a circle around them again. Roger stepped forward from the circle behind Jack, holding a sharpened stick. It was only sharpened at one end. Ralph remembered hearing it would be sharpened at both, but he supposed they had changed their minds. Jack spoke, as if to confirm, “Don’t kill him.” Roger smirked for a moment and nodded.<br/>basically no rescue comes and ralph gets captured by the tribe and then very terrible things happen. mostly based on the newer film but there's kind of a mix</p>
            </blockquote>





	Assimilation

**Author's Note:**

> i read farenheit 451 instead of lord of the flies my sophomore year and never read the book afterwards, but i watched both movies a couple weeks ago with a friend and we were both very disappointed with the fanfiction situation so i wrote this one to fulfill our needs for one that was both appropriately sexual and appropriately awful and disturbing.  
> it's technically set right before the end of the 1990 movie but you could pretend that a couple years or months have passed if that makes you feel more comfortable or makes this fic more plausible.  
> don't tell your english teacher about this

When Ralph reached the beach, there was no one there. Of course there wasn’t, he thought, it would be a dream to find some responsible adult waiting to take him out of this deadly kid’s game. Rescue wasn’t coming, and rather than a dream he was entering a nightmare. The yells of the hunting tribe were growing louder from the forest, and he looked around the surrounding expanse of sea and beach. Where could he go? He certainly couldn’t go back to the jungle, he couldn’t hide there for long. But either way he ran on the sand, no matter he fast he ran they would still find him. There was of course the ocean. He could swim out, hold his breath and tread water until they thought they’d somehow lost him. But it was risky and as the savage cries and the sound of running became louder, he found himself paralyzed by fear. And finally, they broke through the forest, Roger leading the pack, other boys following behind, Jack close to the front. They surrounded Ralph, screaming, chanting, making a circle, but made a path for Jack to come through and face Ralph directly. Ralph was standing up, holding his stick in a futile final gesture of resistance. Jack stared him down for a moment before turning around and yelling to his subordinates to restrain the prisoner and take him back to Castle Rock. Boys assembled on either side of him, the two closest held his arms around their necks and carried him while the rest led him.

Jack was waiting for them when they got there. He motioned with his spear for them to drop Ralph in front of him. He was standing about equal distance away from the pig head and Piggy’s body, still left there beneath the rock, now beginning to collect flies. They roughly shoved Ralph down in the sand in front of Jack, and then made a circle around them again. Roger stepped forward from the circle behind Jack, holding a sharpened stick. It was only sharpened at one end. Ralph remembered hearing it would be sharpened at both, but he supposed they had changed their minds. Jack spoke, as if to confirm, “Don’t kill him.” Roger smirked for a moment and nodded.

Roger prodded Ralph with the sharp side of the stick. “On your knees.” he said. Ralph complied, head down, back exposed. Roger then hit him with the length of the stick, repeatedly, methodically, across his back. It hurt, and Ralph yelled, which did nothing to stop it. It was useless, he thought, to yell, to cry. He’d just show more weakness. When the next hit came, he held back tears and looked up. He made eye contact with Jack who was staring down at him, expressionless. Jack now looked like an entirely different boy from when they had first come to the island. There was the dirt and the war paint, of course, but there was also a coldness about him, a bloodthirst in his eyes. Had it always been there? Another hit. Ralph tensed and breathed in hard to avoid crying out but did not take his eyes away from Jack’s. He remembered when Jack had walked with him to explore the island. That was before Jack was completely against him. He was happy then, that he had a friend in Jack, that even with different views they could be leaders together, equals. So much for that. Another hit, in a place he had been hit before. Ralph involuntary jerked his head forward and cried out but tried to contain it.

Suddenly he felt a sharper stinging pain on his back. It was the sharp end of the stick now. Roger was cutting him along the fresh bruises, slowly and deliberately. It was almost too much to bear, and Ralph could no longer hold back tears. He looked up once again, now pleadingly, at Jack. At the chief. And the chief was still looking back at him with neither joy nor sympathy. It seemed useless now to try to avoid crying, and Ralph started to sob. He wasn’t sobbing about anything in particular, he was barely thinking on account of the searing pain, he was just crying reflexively.

Jack stepped forward. He looked down and suddenly gently propped up Ralph’s head and stroked his cheek almost tenderly. His face was still emotionless. Ralph’s face betrayed something like hope, as well as fear. Before Roger could bring his spear down to make another cut, Jack proclaimed “Enough.” And gestured for Roger to move away and join the faceless mass of the tribe. Ralph had almost forgotten that they were all watching. For a moment Roger behind him had existed only as the external sensation of pain and it had been a wretched world of just him and Jack, trying to communicate something, but he wasn’t sure what, through their eyes. Even now, as Jack leaned down close to Ralph, took a firm hold on his chin, and started to lick the tears off his face, Ralph was hardly cognizant of the now silent crowd of his former friends and comrades watching. As Jack ran his tongue along his cheek and treaded precariously on his eyelashes, Ralph shivered in discomfort and perhaps something else. This is strange, thought Ralph. Was this savagery? He had never heard of anything like this before. For a moment Jack lingered in front of Ralph’s lips but he did not kiss him, and instead licked up a tear that had gotten away near his chin. He let go of Ralph’s face and stood up, and then, removed the tattered remains of his shorts.

Jack’s penis was in front of Ralph’s face, half erect. He looked down at Ralph expectantly, and Ralph understood what he was indicating, but was hesitant. Ralph looked away but in doing so caught a glance of the tribe, who seemed to be as shocked as him and immediately turned his head back in shame. He looked down, focusing intently on the sand, but Jack took his hair, which had grown long enough to grip, and pulled his head up. He looked down at Ralph and moved a bit closer, as if to say, “Do you think you have a choice?” He didn’t say anything though, and he didn’t physically force it either. Ralph begrudgingly looked at Jack’s dick again. It seemed to have gotten a bit harder now. It was simply there in front of him, and he didn’t have to do it. The only thing stopping him from just running away was a hand holding his hair and a circle of children who might be shocked enough to let him get away. But he did it. He gulped hard, and was suddenly aware of the heat of the sun, the faint breeze, the sweat on his forehead, the sound of waves and the incoming tide, the murmur of a boy, the cry of a bird, the smell of sand, of everything except the fact that he was putting Jack’s penis into his mouth.

It was, well, not the most pleasant taste Ralph had tasted, and also not a terribly pleasant sensation to have in his mouth. It felt crammed and out of place and made Ralph realize that he was rather thirsty. All at once his mouth felt unbearably dry. He wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to do. He was only at the dawn of puberty, and the concept of a blowjob was still a new one for him. He took it out of his mouth and tried to spit on the sand as much as he could, and looked back up at Jack, who was staring down coldly. Jack slapped him.

“What am I supposed to do?” Ralph asked reluctantly.

“Suck, you idiot.” said Jack, “like a lollipop or a popsicle. It’s not that hard. You’re clever, Ralph, you should figure it out quickly.” Ralph wondered if Jack had had this done to him before, or done it himself even. He was never sure of what went on at the rocktop while he and Piggy strategized. “Go on,” said Jack, impatiently.

Ralph tried to wet his mouth a bit before taking it in again. He kept in mind what Jack had said and tried to lick it all around like he would a lollipop, and, knowing from his limited experience that sex was about back and forth motions, moved his mouth forward and back along the shaft. Jack moaned. “Good boy,” he said, “I knew you’d get it.” Despite how condescending it was, Ralph found himself some what encouraged by the compliment, to a surprising extent. He increased his gusto, moving his tongue with greater speed and pressure, even bobbing his head somewhat. Jack moaned and grunted unabashedly, and everything else was silent. Everyone is here, aren’t they, thought Ralph. He had become absorbed and forgotten but now that he was used to the motions it occurred to him again. Who was watching while he did this? Were Samneric watching, mortified? Had they done this too? He recalled the time he overheard them, moaning and shouting in pain as Jack and Roger forced them to give him away. Was Roger looking on, smirking? He wondered if Roger was next in receiving this sort of spoils as he was in receiving the others. And Percival and the littluns, the whole tribe must have been watching. He wondered how many of them had been made to do things like this. And what of the corpses, the pig’s head and Piggy’s body, on opposite sides of the sand, could Piggy see him doing this through his cracked glasses? Could those black pointed ears hear Jack’s obscene moaning amid the buzzing of the flies? Could—

Suddenly Jack tugged on Ralph’s hair and jerked himself out of his mouth. Ralph sat dumbly, his mouth still gaping open a bit, some drool and precum leaking out, newly aware of the stinging pain in his back. The momentary dullness of his face disgusted Jack a bit so he slapped him. Ralph returned to the moment and looked straight ahead. Jack hadn’t come and his dick was standing as erect as his back, throbbing a bit. Jack kicked his foot out and stepped on Ralph’s crotch. For a moment, Jack’s face betrayed surprise, elation even, before returning to lordly superiority. “Oh, oh, I see.” He said, “Does this turn you on, Ralph?” In truth Ralph hadn’t even realized he was hard until then, and was ashamed at having it pointed out. He blushed scarlet, and Jack laughed, maliciously, childishly. He grinded his foot into Ralph’s crotch a bit through his shorts, and Ralph squirmed and breathed heavily. Then Jack said, “Enough” and he lifted his foot from Ralph’s crotch and kicked his chest, pushing the prisoner to the ground on his back.

On the ground, Ralph could see the faces of his former comrades, upside down and distorted, who was who suddenly escaping him and he tried to bring to mind as he looked at each mortified, confused, speechless face, the memory of when each boy had introduced himself to him, but he couldn’t remember a single one, not one of them, only the sand and the sea and the group of boys in robes walking on the sand past the sea and that was Jack and here was Jack and Jack was no longer in robes but naked and Jack had just kicked him onto his back and Jack was probably going to do something else and Ralph looked away from the children he didn’t want to know were there and looked ahead at Jack, above him, a situation somehow easier to accept though still mortifying and Jack kneeled down and gingerly pulled off Ralph’s shorts, and then he spit into his hand a few times and coated two of his fingers in the spit and then he forced the tips of those fingers into Ralph’s asshole and Ralph cried out and said “What are you doing?” and Jack didn’t respond and he pushed his fingertips further in and Ralph shrieked again and Jack kept pushing his fingers in and moved them back and forth and separated them inside of Ralph trying to make more space and Ralph yelled “Stop, stop!” and Jack took his fingers out, and for a moment there was relief but then Jack just spit onto his hand some more and the nightmare started over again. “Why are you doing this?” cried Ralph. “This will make it easier,” said Jack, and before Ralph could ask make _what_ easier Jack put in a third finger and Ralph couldn’t admit even to himself that when they hit in a certain place his fingers seemed to be doing something for his dick. And then he realized the sand was getting in his wounds and remembered that everyone was watching and he started bawling again.

Jack took his fingers out and spit in his hand again but this time coated the length of his cock with it and then Ralph understood. Jack lifted up Ralph’s hips with both hands and thrust in. The saliva was a fairly meager lubricant and it still didn’t go in completely easily and it was still extremely painful for Ralph, who cried out instinctively between his bawls but was not really focused on it, or on anything but crying and looking straight up at the sky, so that he didn’t see Jack, so that he didn’t see Roger or Samneric or any of the tribe, so that he didn’t see the all knowing pig’s head, so that he didn’t see Piggy, whose glazed dead eyes seemed to still reflect light. The sun was nearing the west but he hoped even from the indirect light he could go blind if he stared long enough. He hoped he could go deaf from hearing his own tears and shouts and Jack’s moaning and grunting which all seemed unbearably loud. With each thrust, his back dragged across the ground and the sand dug into his open wounds, adding to the pain and blood loss, and he wondered if he would become unconscious.

Between all this, becoming noticeable in brief spurts when the pain seemed less intense, there was pleasure, as torturous as the pain and humiliation, a ticklish warmth but the sensation coming from the wrong place, strange and incomplete, not quite reaching where he needed it to reach. That tantalizing desire to finish was the only thing that made Ralph sort of want was going on to continue, and he hated himself for thinking that. He wanted to touch his dick, but he didn’t have the strength to move his arms, and he felt like to pleasure himself now would be to give in. Jack, moving back and forth above him, seemed to just be using Ralph’s body just as a tool to get himself off but he wondered if there was some sympathy or tenderness that might betray itself. They had been friends at the beginning, hadn’t they? That thought prompted fresh tears.

Suddenly, after a time that seemed far too long, Jack gripped on Ralph’s shoulders and came. Using Ralph as a balance he pulled out and stood up, nude and painted, flaccid in the crotch but erect and proud everywhere else. “Get up,” he said, and he offered his hand to Ralph. Ralph took it, having nothing else to do. It was hard for him to stand. Jack seemed to know this and continued to hold his hand after they were both standing. Jack yelled to one of the speechless boys surrounding to fetch some clay and ash from the remains of the fire, and then with the hand that was not holding Ralph’s he wiped Ralph’s cheeks. When the boy returned with red clay in one palm and ash in the other, Jack took it in his fingers and painted Ralph’s face the same as the others, the same as him. “Welcome,” he said, almost smiling and almost looking guilty. “Don’t cry again until it dries” he then said, “and just wait for _this_ ,” he lightly touched Ralph’s erection, making him flinch, “to go away.” Ralph wanted to break every part of the command right then and there as Jack took his other hand and squeezed it.

There was a sense of the storm having passed and the boys in the circle had begun to talk among themselves again, indistinguishable chatter perhaps about what they had just seen, perhaps about anything but. The sun was beginning to set. Jack broke away from Ralph but remained holding one hand firmly, and he yelled, as the Chief, “Tonight we feast!” Ralph wondered what there even was to feast on. The other boys yelled like cheerful savages and Ralph realized that he heard his own voice in the throng.  

**Author's Note:**

> congratulations on reading the whole thing and i'm sorry if you're terribly upset.  
> a thing i realized after writing this was that early teen boys blow their loads like almost instantly but maybe it's just a time going slow type thing or jack is talented lol  
> i kind of would have liked to connect the themes of the original work to this more and i dunno have the anguish more centralized i feel like i just go from one thing to another when i write, but i mean what's done is done and i am not going to write another draft of this.  
> 


End file.
